Chapter XVIII
So on the
next day the king of Vatsa set out from Lávánaka for Kauśámbí, accompanied by
his wives and his ministers, and as he advanced, shouts broke forth from his
forces, that filled the plains like the waters of the ocean overflowing out of
due time. An image would be furnished of that king advancing on his mighty
elephant, if the sun were to journey in the heaven accompanied by the eastern
mountain. That king, shaded with his white umbrella, shewed as if waited upon
by the moon, delighted at having outdone the splendour of the sun. While he
towered resplendent above them all, the chiefs circled around him, like the
planets in their orbits around the polar star. And those queens, mounted on a
female elephant that followed his, shone like the earth-goddess and the goddess
of Fortune accompanying him out of affection in visible shape. The earth, that
lay in his path, dinted with the edges of the hoofs of the troops of his
prancing steeds, seemed to bear the prints of loving nails, as if it had been enjoyed
by the king. In this style progressing, the king of Vatsa, being continually
praised by his minstrels, reached in a few days the city of Kauśámbí, in which
the people kept holiday. The city was resplendent on that occasion, her lord
having returned from sojourning abroad. She was clothed in the red silk of
banners, round windows were her expanded eyes, the full pitchers in the space
in front of the gates were her two swelling breasts, the joyous shouts of the
crowd were her cheerful conversation, and white palaces her smile. So,
accompanied by his two wives, the king entered the city, and the ladies of the
town were much delighted at beholding him. The heaven was filled with hundreds
of faces of fair ones standing on charming palaces, as if with the soldiers of
the moon that was surpassed in beauty by the faces of the queens, having come
to pay their respects. And other women established at the windows, looking with
unwinking eyes, seemed like heavenly nymphs in aërial chariots, that had come
there out of curiosity. Other women, with their long-lashed eyes closely
applied to the lattice of the windows, made, so to speak, cages of arrows to
confine love. The eager eye of one woman expanded with desire to behold the
king, came, so to speak, to the side of her ear, that did not perceive him, in
order to inform it. The rapidly heaving breasts of another, who had run up
hastily, seemed to want to leap out of her bodice with ardour to behold him.
The necklace of another lady was broken with her excitement, and the
pearl-beads seemed like tear-drops of joy falling from her heart. Some women,
beholding Vásavadattá and remembering the former report of her having been
burned, said as if with anxiety; “If the fire were to do her an injury at
Lávánaka, then the sun might as well diffuse over the world darkness which is
alien to his nature.” Another lady beholding Padmávatí said to her companion;
“I am glad to see that the queen is not put to shame by her fellow-wife, who
seems like her friend.” And others beholding those two queens, and throwing
over them garlands of eyes expanded with joy so as to resemble blue lotuses,
said to one another; “Surely Śiva and Vishṇu have not beheld the beauty of
these two, otherwise how could they regard with much respect their consorts Umá
and Śrí?” In this way feasting the eyes of the population, the king of Vatsa
with the queens entered his own palace, after performing auspicious ceremonies.
Such as is the splendour of a lotus-pool in windy weather, or of the sea when
the moon is rising, such was at that period the wonderful splendour of the
king’s palace. And in a moment it was filled with the presents, which the
feudatories offered to procure good luck, and which foreshadowed the coming in
of offerings from innumerable kings. And so the king of Vatsa, after honouring
the chiefs, entered with great festivity the inner apartments, at the same time
finding his way to the heart of every one present. And there he remained
between the two queens, like the god of Love between Rati and Príti, and spent
the rest of the day in drinking and other enjoyments.
The next
day, when he was sitting in the hall of assembly accompanied by his ministers,
a certain Bráhman came and cried out at the door; “Protection for the Bráhmans!
O king! certain wicked herdsmen have cut off my son’s foot in the forest
without any reason.” When he heard that, the king immediately had two or three
herdsmen seized and brought before him, and proceeded to question them. Then
they gave the following answer; “O king, being herdsmen we roam in the
wilderness, and there we have among us a herdsman named Devasena, and he sits
in a certain place in the forest on a stone seat, and says to us ‘I am your
king’ and gives us orders. And not a man among us disobeys his orders. Thus, O
king, that herdsman rules supreme in the wood. Now to-day the son of this
Bráhman came that way, and did not do obeisance to the herdsman king, and when
we by the order of the king said to him—‘Depart not without doing thy
reverence’—the young fellow pushed us aside, and went off laughing in spite of
the admonition. Then the herdsman king commanded us to punish the contumacious
boy by cutting off his foot. So we, O king, ran after him, and cut off his
foot; what man of our humble degree is able to disobey the command of a ruler?”
When the herdsmen had made this representation to the king, the wise
Yaugandharáyaṇa, after thinking it over, said to him in private; “Certainly
that place must contain treasure, on the strength of which a mere herdsman has such
influence.8 So let us [127]go there.” When his minister had said this to him,
the king made those herdsmen shew him the way, and went to that place in the
forest with his soldiers and his attendants.
And while,
after the ground had been examined, peasants were digging there, a Yaksha in
stature like a mountain rose up from beneath it, and said, “O king, this
treasure, which I have so long guarded, belongs to thee, as having been buried
by thy forefathers, therefore take possession of it.” After he had said this to
the king and accepted his worship, the Yaksha disappeared, and a great treasure
was displayed in the excavation. And from it was extracted a valuable throne
studded with jewels, for in the time of prosperity a long series of happy and
fortunate events takes place. The Lord of Vatsa took away the whole treasure
from the spot in high glee, and after chastising those herdsmen returned to his
own city. There the people saw that golden throne brought by the king, which
seemed with the streams of rays issuing from its blood-red jewels to foretell
the king’s forceful conquest of all the regions, and which with its pearls
fixed on the end of projecting silver spikes seemed to show its teeth as if
laughing again and again when it considered the astonishing intellect of the
king’s ministers; and they expressed their joy in a charming manner, by
striking drums of rejoicing so that they sent forth their glad sounds. The
ministers too rejoiced exceedingly, making certain of the king’s triumph; for
prosperous events happening at the very commencement of an enterprise portend
its final success. Then the sky was filled with flags resembling flashes of
lightning, and the king like a cloud rained gold on his dependants. And this
day having been spent in feasting, on the morrow Yaugandharáyaṇa, wishing to
know the mind of the king of Vatsa, said to him; “O king, ascend and adorn that
great throne, which thou hast obtained by inheritance from thy ancestors.” But
the king said, “Surely it is only after conquering all the regions that I can
gain glory by ascending that throne, which those famous ancestors of mine
mounted after conquering the earth. Not till I have subdued this widely-gemmed
earth bounded by the main, will I ascend the great jewelled throne of my ancestors.”
Saying this, the king did not mount the throne as yet. For men of high birth
possess genuine loftiness of spirit. Thereupon Yaugandharáyaṇa being delighted
said to him in private; “Bravo! my king! So make first an attempt to conquer
the eastern region.” When he heard that, the king eagerly asked his minister;
“When there are other cardinal points, why do kings first march towards the
East?” When Yaugandharáyaṇa heard this, he said to him [128]again; “The North,
O king, though rich, is defiled by intercourse with barbarians, and the West is
not honoured as being the cause of the setting of the sun and other heavenly
bodies; and the South is seen to be neighboured by Rákshasas and inhabited by
the god of death; but in the eastern quarter the sun rises, over the East
presides Indra, and towards the East flows the Ganges, therefore the East is
preferred. Moreover among the countries situated between the Vindhya and
Himálaya mountains, the country laved by the waters of the Ganges is considered
most excellent. Therefore monarchs who desire success march first towards the
East, and dwell moreover in the land visited by the river of the gods. For your
ancestors also conquered the regions by beginning with the East, and made their
dwelling in Hastinápura on the banks of the Ganges; but Śatáníka repaired to
Kauśámbí on account of its delightful situation, seeing that empire depended
upon valour, and situation had nothing to do with it.” When he had said this
Yaugandharáyaṇa stopped speaking; and the king out of his great regard for
heroic exploits said; “It is true that dwelling in any prescribed country is
not the cause of empire in this world, for to men of brave disposition their
own valour is the only cause of success. For a brave man by himself without any
support obtains prosperity; have you never heard à propos of this the tale of
the brave man?” Having said this, the lord of Vatsa on the entreaty of his
ministers again began to speak, and related in the presence of the queens the
following wonderful story.
Story of Vidúshaka.
In the city
of Ujjayiní, which is celebrated throughout the earth, there was in former days
a king named Ádityasena. He was a treasure-house of valour, and on account of
his sole supremacy, his war chariot, like that of the sun, was not impeded
anywhere. When his lofty umbrella, gleaming white like snow, illuminated the
firmament, other kings free from heat depressed theirs. He was the receptacle
of the jewels produced over the surface of the whole earth, as the sea is the
receptacle of waters. Once on a time, he was encamped with his army on the
banks of the Ganges, where he had come for some reason or other. There a
certain rich merchant of the country, named Gunavartman, came to the king
bringing a gem of maidens as a present, and sent this message by the mouth of
the warder. This maiden, though the gem of the three worlds, has been born in
my house, and I cannot give her to anyone else, only your Highness is fit to be
the husband of such a girl. Then Gunavartman entered and shewed his daughter to
the king. The king, when he beheld that maiden, Tejasvatí by name, illuminating
with her brightness the quarters of the heavens, like the flame of the rays
from the jewels in the temple of the god of Love, was all enveloped with the
radiance of her beauty and fell in love with her, and, as if heated with the
fire of passion, began to dissolve in drops of sweat. So he at once accepted
her, who was fit for the rank of head queen, and being highly delighted made
Gunavartman equal to himself in honour. Then, having married his dear
Tejasvatí, the king thought all his objects in life accomplished, and went with
her to Ujjayiní. There the king fixed his gaze so exclusively on her face, that
he could not see the affairs of his kingdom, though they were of great
importance. And his ear being, so to speak, riveted on her musical discourse
could not be attracted by the cries of his distressed subjects. The king
entered into his harem for a long time and never left it, but the fever of fear
left the hearts of his enemies. And after some time there was born to the king,
by the queen Tejasvatí, a girl welcomed by all, and there arose in his heart
the desire of conquest, which was equally welcome to his subjects. That girl of
exceeding beauty, who made the three worlds seem worthless as stubble, excited
in him joy, and desire of conquest excited his valour. Then that king
Ádityasena set out one day from Ujjayiní to attack a certain contumacious
chieftain; and he made that queen Tejasvatí go with him mounted on an elephant,
as if she were the protecting goddess of the host. And he mounted an admirable
horse, that in spirit and fury resembled a torrent,14 tall like a moving
mountain, with a curl on its breast, and a girth. It seemed to imitate with its
feet raised as high as its mouth, the going of Garuḍa which it had seen in the
heaven, rivalling its own swiftness, and it lifted up its head and seemed with
fearless eye to measure the earth, as if thinking, “what shall be the limit of
my speed?” And after the king had gone a little way, he came to a level piece
of ground, and put his horse to its utmost speed to shew it off to Tejasvatí.
That horse, on being struck with his heel, went off rapidly, like an arrow
impelled from a catapult, in some unknown direction, so that it became
invisible to the eyes of men. The soldiers, when they saw that take place, were
bewildered, and horsemen galloped in a thousand directions after the king, who
was run away with by his horse, but could not overtake him. Thereupon the
ministers with the soldiers, fearing some calamity, in their anxiety took with
them the weeping queen and returned to Ujjayiní; there they remained with gates
closed and ramparts guarded, seeking for news of the king, having cheered up the
citizens.
In the
meanwhile the king was carried by the horse in an instant to the impassable
forest of the Vindhya hills, haunted by terrible lions. Then the horse happened
to stand still, and the king was immediately distracted with bewilderment, as
the great forest made it impossible for him to know whereabouts he was. Seeing
no other way out of his difficulties, the king, who knew what the horse had
been in a former birth, got down from his saddle, and prostrating himself
before the excellent horse, said to him: “Thou art a god; a creature like thee
should not commit treason against his lord; so I look upon thee as my
protector, take me by a pleasant path.” When the horse heard that, he was full
of regret, remembering his former birth; and mentally acceded to the king’s
request, for excellent horses are divine beings. Then the king mounted again,
and the horse set out by a road bordered with clear cool lakes, that took away
the fatigue of the journey; and by evening the splendid horse had taken the
king another hundred yojanas and brought him near Ujjayiní. As the sun
beholding his horses, though seven in number, excelled by this courser’s speed,
had sunk, as it were through shame, into the ravines of the western mountain,
and as the darkness was diffused abroad, the wise horse seeing that the gates
of Ujjayiní were closed, and that the burning-place outside the gates was
terrible at that time, carried the king for shelter to a concealed monastery of
Bráhmans, that was situated in a lonely place outside the walls. And the king
Ádityasena seeing that that monastery was a fit place to spend the night in, as
his horse was tired, attempted to enter it. But the Bráhmans, who dwelt there,
opposed his entrance, saying that he must be some keeper of a cemetery or some
thief. And out they poured in quarrelsome mood, with savage gestures, for
Bráhmans who live by chanting the Sáma Veda, are the home of timidity,
boorishness, and ill-temper. While they were clamouring, a virtuous Bráhman
named Vidúshaka, the bravest of the brave, came out from that monastery. He was
a young man distinguished for strength of arm, who had propitiated the fire by
his austerities, and obtained a splendid sword from that divinity, which he had
only to think of, and it came to him. That resolute youth Vidúshaka seeing that
king of distinguished bearing, who had arrived by night, thought to himself
that he was some god in disguise. And the well-disposed youth pushed away all
those other Bráhmans, and bowing humbly before the king, caused him to enter
the monastery. And when he had rested, and had the dust of the journey washed
off by female slaves, Vidúshaka prepared for him suitable food. And he took the
saddle off that excellent horse of his, and relieved its fatigue by giving it
grass and other fodder. And after he had made a bed for the wearied king, he
said to him,—“My lord, I will guard your person, so sleep in peace”—and while
the king slept, that Bráhman kept watch the whole night at the door with the
sword of the Fire-god in his hand, that came to him on his thinking of it.
And on the
morrow early, Vidúshaka, without receiving any orders, of his own accord
saddled the horse for the king, as soon as he awoke. The king for his part took
leave of him, and mounting his horse entered the city of Ujjayiní, beheld afar
off by the people bewildered with joy. And the moment he entered, his subjects
approached him with a confused hum of delight at his return. The king
accompanied by his ministers entered the palace, and great anxiety left the
breast of the queen Tejasvatí. Immediately grief seemed to be swept away from
the city by the rows of silken flags displayed out of joy, which waved in the
wind; and the queen made high festival until the end of the day, until such
time as the people of the city and the sun were red as vermilion.17 And the
next day the king Ádityasena had Vidúshaka summoned from the monastery with all
the other Bráhmans. And as soon as he had made known what took place in the
night, he gave his benefactor Vidúshaka a thousand villages. And the grateful
king also gave that Bráhman an umbrella and an elephant and appointed him his
domestic chaplain, so that he was beheld with great interest by the people. So
Vidúshaka then became equal to a chieftain, for how can a benefit conferred on
great persons fail of bearing fruit? And the noble-minded Vidúshaka shared all
those villages, which he had received from the king, with the Bráhmans who
lived in the monastery. And he remained in the court of the king in attendance
upon him, enjoying together with the other Bráhmans the income of those
villages. But as time went on, those other Bráhmans began striving each of them
to be chief, and made no account of Vidúshaka, being intoxicated with the pride
of wealth. Dwelling in separate parties, seven in one place, with their mutual
rivalries they oppressed the villages like malignant planets. Vidúshaka
regarded their excesses with scornful indifference, for men of firm mind
rightly treat with contempt men of little soul. Once upon a time a Bráhman of
the name of Chakradhara, who was naturally stern, seeing them engaged in
wrangling, came up to them. Chakradhara, though he was one-eyed, was
keen-sighted enough in deciding what was right in other men’s affairs, and
though a hunchback, was straightforward enough in speech. He said to
them—“While you were living by begging, you obtained this windfall, you
rascals, then why do you ruin the villages with your mutual intolerance? It is
all the fault of Vidúshaka who has permitted you to act thus; so you may be
certain that in a short time you will again have to roam about begging. For a
situation, in which there is no head, and everyone has to shift for himself by
his own wits as chance directs, is better than one of disunion under many
heads, in which all affairs go to rack and ruin. So take my advice and appoint
one firm man as your head, if you desire unshaken prosperity, which can only be
ensured by a capable governor.” On hearing that, every one of them desired the
headship for himself; thereupon Chakradhara after reflection again said to
those fools; “As you are so addicted to mutual rivalry I propose to you a basis
of agreement. In the neighbouring cemetery three robbers have been executed by
impalement; whoever is daring enough to cut off the noses of those three by
night and to bring them here, he shall be your head, for courage merits
command.18” When Chakradhara made this proposal to the Bráhmans, Vidúshaka, who
was standing near, said to them; “Do this, what is there to be afraid of?” Then
the Bráhmans said to him; “We are not bold enough to do it, let whoever is
able, do it, and we will abide by the agreement.” Then Vidúshaka said, “Well, I
will do it, I will cut off the noses of those robbers by night and bring them
from the cemetery.” Then those fools, thinking the task a difficult one, said
to him; “If you do this you shall be our lord, we make this agreement.” When
they had pronounced this agreement, and night had set in, Vidúshaka took leave
of those Bráhmans and went to the cemetery. So the hero entered the cemetery
awful as his own undertaking, with the sword of the Fire-god, that came with a
thought, as his only companion. And in the middle of that cemetery where the
cries of vultures and jackals were swelled by the screams of witches, and the
flames of the funeral pyres were reinforced by the fires in the mouths of the
fire-breathing demons, he beheld those impaled men with their faces turned up,
as if through fear of having their noses cut off. And when he approached them,
those three being tenanted by demons struck him with their fists19; and he for
his part slashed them in return with his sword, for fear has not learned to
bestir herself in the breast of the resolute. Accordingly the corpses ceased to
be convulsed with demons, and then the successful hero cut off their noses and
brought them away, binding them up in his garment. And as he was returning, he
beheld in that cemetery a religious mendicant sitting on a corpse muttering
charms, and through curiosity to have the amusement of seeing what he was
doing, he stood concealed behind that mendicant. In a moment the corpse under
the mendicant gave forth a hissing sound, and flames issued from its mouth, and
from its navel mustard-seeds. And then the mendicant took the mustard-seeds,
and rising up struck the corpse with the flat of his hand, and the corpse,
which was tenanted by a mighty demon, stood up, and then that mendicant mounted
on its shoulder, and began to depart at a rapid rate, and Vidúshaka silently
followed him unobserved, and after he had gone a short distance Vidúshaka saw
an empty temple with an image of Durgá in it. Then the mendicant got down from
the shoulder of the demon, and entered the inner shrine of the temple, while
the demon fell flat on the earth. But Vidúshaka was present also, contriving to
watch the mendicant, unperceived by him. The mendicant worshipped the goddess
there and offered the following prayer; “If thou art pleased with me, O
goddess, grant me the desired boon. If not I will propitiate thee with the
sacrifice of myself.” When the mendicant, intoxicated with the success of his
powerful spells, said this, a voice coming from the inner shrine thus addressed
the mendicant; “Bring here the maiden daughter of king Ádityasena, and offer her
as a sacrifice, then thou shalt obtain thy desire.” When the mendicant heard
this, he went out, and striking once more with his hand the demon, who hissed
at the blow, made him stand upright. And mounting on the shoulder of the demon,
from whose mouth issued flames of fire, he flew away through the air to bring
the princess. Vidúshaka seeing all this from his place of concealment thought
to himself; “What! shall he slay the king’s daughter while I am alive? I will
remain here until the scoundrel returns.” Having formed this resolve, Vidúshaka
remained there in concealment. But the mendicant entered the female apartments
of the palace through the window, and found the king’s daughter asleep, as it
was night. And he returned, all clothed in darkness, through the air, bringing
with him the princess who illuminated with her beauty the region, as Ráhu
carries off a digit of the moon. And bearing along with him that princess who
exclaimed in her grief—“Alas! my father! Alas! my mother”—he descended from the
sky in that very temple of the goddess. And then, dismissing the demon, he
entered with that pearl of maidens into the inner shrine of the goddess, and
while he was preparing to slay the princess there, Vidúshaka came in with his
sword drawn. He said to the mendicant, “Villain! do you wish to smite a jasmine
flower with a thunder-bolt, in that you desire to employ a weapon against this
tender form?” And then he seized the trembling mendicant by the hair, and cut
off his head. And he consoled the princess distracted with fear, who clung to
him closely as she began to recognise him. And then the hero thought; “How can
I manage during the night to convey this princess from this place to the
harem?” Then a voice from the air addressed him; “Hear this O Vidúshaka! the
mendicant, whom thou hast slain, had in his power a great demon and some grains
of mustard-seed. Thence arose his desire to be ruler of the earth and marry the
daughters of kings, and so the fool has this day been baffled. Therefore thou
hero, take those mustard-seeds, in order that for this night only thou mayest
be enabled to travel through the air.” Thus the aërial voice addressed the
delighted Vidúshaka; for even the gods often take such a hero under their
protection. Then he took in his hand those grains of mustard-seed from the
corner of the mendicant’s robe, and the princess in his arms. And while he was
setting out from that temple of the goddess, another voice sounded in the air;
“Thou must return to this very temple of the goddess at the end of a month,
thou must not forget this, O hero!” When he heard this, Vidúshaka said “I will
do so,”—and by the favour of the goddess he immediately flew up into the air
bearing with him the princess. And flying through the air he quickly placed
that princess in her private apartments, and said to her after she had
recovered her spirits; “To-morrow morning I shall not be able to fly through
the air, and so all men will see me going out, so I must depart now.” When he
said this to her, the maiden being alarmed, answered him; “When you are gone,
this breath of mine will leave my body overcome with fear. Therefore do not
depart, great-souled hero; once more save my life, for the good make it their
business from their birth to carry out every task they have undertaken.” When
the brave Vidúshaka heard that, he reflected, “If I go, and leave this maiden,
she may possibly die of fear; and then what kind of loyalty to my sovereign
shall I have exhibited? Thinking thus he remained all night in those female
apartments, and he gradually dropped off to sleep wearied with toil and
watching. But the princess in her terror passed that night without sleeping:
and even when the morning came she did not wake up the sleeping Vidúshaka, as
her mind was made tender by love22, and she said to herself; “Let him rest a
little longer.” Then the servants of the harem came in and saw him, and in a
state of consternation they went and told the king. The king for his part sent
the warder to discover the truth, and he entering beheld Vidúshaka there. And
he heard the whole story from the mouth of the princess, and went and repeated
it all to the king. And the king knowing the excellent character of Vidúshaka,
was immediately bewildered, wondering what it could mean. And he had Vidúshaka brought
from his daughter’s apartment, escorted all the way by her soul, which followed
him out of affection. And when he arrived, the king asked him what had taken
place, and Vidúshaka told him the whole story from the beginning, and shewed
him the noses of the robbers fastened up in the end of his garment, and the
mustard-seeds which had been in the possession of the mendicant, different from
those found on earth. The high-minded monarch suspected that Vidúshaka’s story
was true from these circumstances, so he had all the Bráhmans of the monastery
brought before him, together with Chakradhara, and asked about the original
cause of the whole matter. And he went in person to the cemetery and saw those
men with their noses cut off, and that base mendicant with his neck severed,
and then he reposed complete confidence in, and was much pleased with, the
skilful and successful Vidúshaka, who had saved his daughter’s life. And he
gave him his own daughter on the spot; what do generous men withhold when
pleased with their benefactors? Surely the goddess of Prosperity, out of love
for the lotus, dwelt in the hand of the princess, since Vidúshaka obtained
great good fortune after he had received it in the marriage ceremony. Then
Vidúshaka enjoying a distinguished reputation, and engaged in attending upon
the sovereign, lived with that beloved wife in the palace of king Ádityasena.
Then as days went on, once upon a time the princess impelled by some
supernatural power said at night to Vidúshaka; “My lord, you remember that when
you were in the temple of the goddess a divine voice said to you, ‘Come here at
the end of a month.’ To-day is the last day of the month, and you have
forgotten it.” When his beloved said this to him, Vidúshaka was delighted, and
recalled it to mind, and said to his wife—“Well remembered on thy part, fair
one! But I had forgotten it.” And then he embraced her by way of reward. And
then, while she was asleep, he left the women’s apartments by night, and in
high spirits he went armed with his sword to the temple of the goddess; then he
exclaimed outside, “I Vidúshaka am arrived:” and he heard this speech uttered
by someone inside—“Come in, Vidúshaka.” Thereupon he entered and beheld a
heavenly palace, and inside it a lady of heavenly beauty with a heavenly
retinue, dispelling with her brightness the darkness, like a night set on fire,
looking as if she were the medicine to restore to life the god of love consumed
with the fire of the wrath of Śiva. He wondering what it could all mean, was
joyfully received by her in person with a welcome full of affection and great
respect. And when he had sat down and had gained confidence from seeing her
affection, he became eager to understand the real nature of the adventure, and
she said to him; “I am a maiden of the Vidyádhara race, of high descent, and my
name is Bhadrá, and as I was roaming about at my will I saw you here on that
occasion. And as my mind was attracted by your virtues, I uttered at that time
that voice which seemed to come from someone invisible, in order that you might
return. And to-day I bewildered the princess by employing my magic skill, so
that under my impulse she revived your remembrance of this matter, and for your
sake I am here, and so, handsome hero, I surrender myself to you; marry me.”
The noble Vidúshaka, when the Vidyádharí Bhadrá addressed him in this style,
agreed that moment, and married her by the Gándharva ceremony. Then he remained
in that very place, having obtained celestial joys, the fruits of his own
valour, living with that beloved wife.
Meanwhile
the princess woke up when the night came to an end, and not seeing her husband,
was immediately plunged in despair. So she got up and went with tottering steps
to her mother, all trembling, with her eyes flooded with gushing tears. And she
told her mother that her husband had gone away somewhere in the night, and was
full of self-reproach, fearing that she had been guilty of some fault. Then her
mother was distracted owing to her love for her daughter, and so in course of
time the king heard of it, and came there, and fell into a state of the utmost
anxiety. When his daughter said to him—“I know my husband has gone to the
temple of the goddess outside the cemetery”—the king went there in person. But
he was not able to find Vidúshaka there in spite of all his searching, for he
was concealed by virtue of the magic science of the Vidyádharí. Then the king
returned, and his daughter in despair determined to leave the body, but while
she was thus minded, some wise man came to her and said this to her; “Do not
fear any misfortune, for that husband of thine is living in the enjoyment of
heavenly felicity, and will return to thee shortly.” When she heard that, the
princess retained her life, which was kept in her by the hope of her husband’s
return, that had taken deep root in her heart.
Then, while
Vidúshaka was living there, a certain friend of his beloved, named Yogeśvarí,
came to Bhadrá, and said to her in secret—“My friend, the Vidyádharas are angry
with you because you live with a man, and they seek to do you an injury,
therefore leave this place. There is a city called Kárkoṭaka on the shore of
the eastern sea, and beyond that there is a sanctifying stream named Śítodá,
and after you cross that, there is a great mountain named Udaya, the land of
the Siddhas, which the Vidyádharas may not invade; go there immediately, and do
not be anxious about the beloved mortal whom you leave here, for before you
start you can tell all this to him, so that he shall be able afterwards to
journey there with speed.” When her friend said this to her, Bhadrá was
overcome with fear, and though attached to Vidúshaka, she consented to do as
her friend advised. So she told her scheme to Vidúshaka, and providently gave
him her ring, and then disappeared at the close of the night. And Vidúshaka
immediately found himself in the empty temple of the goddess, in which he had
been before, and no Bhadrá and no palace. Remembering the delusion produced by
Bhadrá’s magic skill, and beholding the ring, Vidúshaka was overpowered by a
paroxysm of despair and wonder. And remembering her speech as if it were a
dream, he reflected,—“Before she left, she assigned as a place of meeting the
mountain of the sun-rising; so I must quickly go there to find her: but if I am
seen by the people in this state, the king will not let me go: so I will employ
a stratagem in this matter, in order that I may accomplish my object.” So
reflecting, the wise man assumed another appearance, and went out from that
temple with tattered clothes, begrimed with dust, exclaiming, “Ah Bhadrá! Ah
Bhadrá!” And immediately the people, who lived in that place, beholding him,
raised a shout; “Here is Vidúshaka found!” And the king hearing of it came out
from his palace in person, and seeing Vidúshaka in such a state, conducting
himself like a madman, he laid hold on him and took him back to his palace.
When he was there, whatever his servants and connexions, who were full of
affection, said to him, he answered only by exclaiming, “Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!”
And when he was anointed with unguents prescribed by the physicians, he
immediately defiled his body with much cinder-dust; and the food which the
princess out of love offered to him with her own hands, he instantly threw down
and trampled underfoot. And in this condition Vidúshaka remained there some
days, without taking interest in anything, tearing his own clothes, and playing
the madman. And Ádityasena thought to himself; “His condition is past cure, so
what is the use of torturing him? He may perhaps die, and then I should be
guilty of the death of a Bráhman, whereas if he roams about at his will, he may
possibly recover in course of time.” So he let him go. Then the hero Vidúshaka,
being allowed to roam where he liked, set out the next day at his leisure to
find Bhadrá, taking with him the ring. And as he journeyed on day by day
towards the East, he at last reached a city named Pauṇḍravardhana, which lay in
his way as he travelled on; there he entered the house of a certain aged
Bráhman woman, saying to her—“Mother, I wish to stop here one night.” And she
gave him a lodging and entertained him, and shortly after, she approached him,
full of inward sorrow, and said to him—“My son, I hereby give thee all this
house, therefore receive it, since I cannot now live any longer.” He,
astonished, said to her—“Why do you speak thus?” Then she said—“Listen, I will
tell you the whole story,” and so continued as follows—“My son, in this city
there is a king named Devasena, and to him there was born one daughter, the
ornament of the earth. The affectionate king said—‘I have with difficulty
obtained this one daughter’,—so he gave her the name of Duḥkalabdhiká.
“In course
of time when she had grown up, the king gave her in marriage to the king of
Kachchhapa, whom he had brought to his own palace. The king of Kachchhapa
entered at night the private apartments of his bride, and died the very first
time he entered them. Then the king much distressed, again gave his daughter in
marriage to another king; he also perished in the same way: and when through
fear of the same fate other kings did not wish to marry her, the king gave this
order to his general—‘You must bring a man in turn from every single house in
this country, so that one shall be supplied every day, and he must be a Bráhman
or a Kshatriya. And after you have brought the man, you must cause him to enter
by night into the apartment of my daughter; let us see how many will perish in
this way, and how long it will go on. Whoever escapes shall afterwards become
her husband; for it is impossible to bar the course of fate, whose
dispensations are mysterious.’ The general, having received this order from the
king, brings a man every day turnabout from every house in this city, and in
this way hundreds of men have met their death in the apartment of the princess.
Now I, whose merits in a former life must have been deficient, have one son
here; his turn has to-day arrived to go to the palace to meet his death; and I
being deprived of him must to-morrow enter the fire. Therefore, while I am
still alive, I give to you, a worthy object, all my house with my own hand, in
order that my lot may not again be unfortunate in my next birth.” When she had
said this, the resolute Vidúshaka answered; “If this is the whole matter, do
not be despondent, mother, I will go there to-day, let your only son live. And
do not feel any commiseration with regard to me, so as to say to yourself—‘Why
should I be the cause of this man’s death?’—for owing to the magical power
which I possess I run no risk by going there.” When Vidúshaka had said this,
that Bráhman woman said to him, “Then you must be some god come here as a
reward for my virtue, so cause me, my son, to recover life, and yourself to
gain felicity.” When she had expressed her approval of his project in these
words, he went in the evening to the apartment of the princess, together with a
servant appointed by the general to conduct him. There he beheld the princess
flushed with the pride of youth, like a creeper weighed down with the burden of
its abundant flowers that had not yet been gathered. Accordingly, when night
came, the princess went to her bed, and Vidúshaka remained awake in her
apartment, holding in his hand the sword of the Fire-god, which came to him
with a thought, saying to himself, “I will find out who it is that slays men
here.” And when people were all asleep, he saw a terrible Rákshasa coming from
the side of the apartment where the entrance was, having first opened the door;
and the Rákshasa standing at the entrance stretched forward into the room an
arm, which had been the swift wand of Death to hundreds of men. But Vidúshaka
in wrath springing forward, cut off suddenly the arm of the Rákshasa with one
stroke of his sword. And the Rákshasa immediately fled away through fear of his
exceeding valour, with the loss of one arm, never again to return. When the
princess awoke, she saw the severed arm lying there, and she was terrified,
delighted and astonished at the same time. And in the morning the king Devasena
saw the arm of the Rákshasa, which had fallen down after it was cut off, lying
at the door of his daughter’s apartments; in this way Vidúshaka, as if to say
“Henceforth no other men must enter here”—fastened the door as it were with a
long bar.30 Accordingly the delighted king gave to Vidúshaka, who possessed
this divine power, his daughter and much wealth; and Vidúshaka dwelt there some
days with this fair one, as if with prosperity incarnate in bodily form. But
one day he left the princess while asleep, and set out at night in haste to
find his Bhadrá. And the princess in the morning was afflicted at not seeing
him, but she was comforted by her father with the hope of his return. Vidúshaka
journeying on day by day, at last reached the city of Támraliptá not far from
the eastern sea. There he joined himself to a certain merchant, named
Skandhadása who desired to cross the sea. In his company, embarking on a ship
laden with much wealth belonging to the merchant, he set out on the ocean path.
Then that ship was stopped suddenly when it had reached the middle of the
ocean, as if it were held by something. And when it did not move, though the
sea was propitiated with jewels, that merchant Skandhadása being grieved, said
this: “Whosoever releases this ship of mine which is detained, to him I will
give half of my own wealth and my daughter.” The resolute-souled Vidúshaka,
when he heard that, said, “I will descend into the water of the sea and search
it, and I will set free in a moment this ship of yours which is stopped: but
you must support me by ropes fastened round my body. And the moment the ship is
set free, you must draw me up out of the midst of the sea by the supporting
ropes.” The merchant welcomed his speech with a promise to do what he asked, and
the steersmen bound ropes under his armpits. Supported in that way Vidúshaka
descended in the sea; a brave man never desponds when the moment for action has
arrived. So taking in his hand the sword of the Fire-god, that came to him with
a thought, the hero descended into the midst of the sea under the ship. And
there he saw a giant asleep, and he saw that the ship was stopped by his leg.
So he immediately cut off his leg with his sword, and at once the ship moved on
freed from its impediment. When the wicked merchant saw that, he cut the ropes,
by which Vidúshaka was supported, through desire to save the wealth he had
promised him; and went swiftly to the other shore of the ocean vast as his own
avarice, in the ship which had thus been set free. Vidúshaka for his part,
being in the midst of the sea with the supporting ropes cut, rose to the surface,
and seeing how matters stood he calmly reflected for a moment; “Why did the
merchant do this? Surely in this case the proverb is applicable; ‘Ungrateful men
blinded by desire of gain cannot see a benefit.’ Well, it is now high time for
me to display intrepidity, for if courage fails, even a small calamity cannot
be overcome.” Thus he reflected on that occasion, and then he got astride on
the leg which he had cut off from the giant sleeping in the water, and by its
help he crossed the sea, as if with a boat, paddling with his hands, for even
destiny takes the part of men of distinguished valour. Then a voice from heaven
addressed that mighty hero, who had come across the ocean, as Hanumán did for
the sake of Ráma; “Bravo, Vidúshaka! Bravo! who except thee is a man of
valour? I am pleased with this courage of thine: therefore hear this. Thou hast
reached a desolate coast here, but from this thou shalt arrive in seven days at
the city of Kárkoṭaka; then thou shalt pluck up fresh spirits, and journeying
quickly from that place, thou shalt obtain thy desire. But I am the Fire, the
consumer of the oblations to gods and the spirits of deceased ancestors, whom
thou didst before propitiate: and owing to my favour thou shalt feel neither
hunger nor thirst,—therefore go prosperously and confidently;” having thus
spoken, the voice ceased. And Vidúshaka, when he heard that, bowed, adoring the
Fire-god, and set forth in high spirits, and on the seventh day he reached the
city of Kárkoṭaka. And there he entered a monastery, inhabited by many noble
Bráhmans from various lands, who were noted for hospitality. It was a wealthy
foundation of the king of that place Áryavarman, and had annexed to it
beautiful temples all made of gold. There all of the Bráhmans welcomed him, and
one Bráhman took the guest to his chamber, and provided him with a bath, with
food and with clothing. And while he was living in the monastery, he heard this
proclamation being made by beat of drum in the evening; “Whatever Bráhman or
Kshatriya wishes to-morrow morning to marry the king’s daughter, let him spend
a night in her chamber.” When he heard that, he suspected the real reason, and
being always fond of daring adventures, he desired immediately to go to the
apartment of the princess. Thereupon the Bráhmans of the monastery said to
him,—“Bráhman, do not be guilty of rashness. The apartment of the princess is
not rightly so called, rather is it the open mouth of death, for whoever enters
it at night does not escape alive, and many daring men have thus met their
death there.” In spite of what these Bráhmans told him, Vidúshaka would not
take their advice,34 but went to the palace of the king with his servants.
There the king Áryavarman, when he saw him, welcomed him in person, and at
night he entered the apartment of the king’s daughter, looking like the sun
entering the fire. And he beheld that princess who seemed by her appearance to
be attached to him, for she looked at him with tearful eye, and a sad look
expressive of the grief produced by utter despair. And he remained awake there
all night gazing intently, holding in his hand the sword of the Fire-god that
came to him with a thought. And suddenly he beheld at the entrance a very
terrible Rákshasa, extending his left hand because his right had been cut off.
And when he saw him, he said to himself; “Here is that very Rákshasa, whose arm
I cut off in the city of Pauṇḍravardhana. So I will not strike at his arm
again, lest he should escape me and depart as before, and for this reason it is
better for me to kill him.” Thus reflecting, Vidúshaka ran forward and seized
his hair, and was preparing to cut off his head, when suddenly the Rákshasa in
extreme terror said to him; “Do not slay me, you are brave, therefore shew
mercy.” Vidúshaka let him go and said, “Who are you, and what are you about
here?” Then the Rákshasa, being thus questioned by the hero, continued—“My name
is Yamadanshṭra, and I had two daughters, this is one, and she who lives in Pauṇḍravardhana
is another. And Śiva favoured me by laying on me this command; ‘Thou must save
the two princesses from marrying anyone who is not a hero.’ While thus engaged
I first had an arm cut off at Pauṇḍravardhana, and now I have been conquered by
you here, so this duty of mine is accomplished.” When Vidúshaka heard this, he
laughed, and said to him in reply; “It was I that cut off your arm there in Pauṇḍravardhana.”
The Rákshasa answered “Then you must be a portion of some divinity, not a mere
man, I think it was for your sake that Śiva did me the honour of laying that
command upon me. So henceforth I consider you my friend, and when you call me
to mind I will appear to you to ensure your success even in difficulties.” In
these words the Rákshasa Yamadanshṭra out of friendship chose him as a sworn
brother, and when Vidúshaka accepted his proposal, disappeared. Vidúshaka, for
his part, was commended for his valour by the princess, and spent the night
there in high spirits; and in the morning the king hearing of the incident and
highly pleased, gave him his daughter as the conspicuous banner of his valour
together with much wealth. Vidúshaka lived there some nights with her, as if
with the goddess of prosperity, bound so firmly by his virtue that she could
not move a step. But one night he went off of his own accord from that place,
longing for his beloved Bhadrá, for who that has tasted heavenly joys, can take
pleasure in any other? And after he had left the town, he called to mind that
Rákshasa, and said to him, who appeared the moment he called him to mind, and
made him a bow,—“My friend, I must go to the land of the Siddhas on the Eastern
mountain [142]for the sake of the Vidyádharí named Bhadrá, so do you take me
there.” The Rákshasa said—“Very good”—so he ascended his shoulder, and
travelled in that night over sixty yojanas of difficult country; and in the
morning he crossed the Śítodá, a river that cannot be crossed by mortals, and
without effort reached the border of the land of the Siddhas. The Rákshasa said
to him; “Here is the blessed mountain, called the mountain of the rising sun,
in front of you, but I cannot set foot upon it as it is the home of the
Siddhas.” Then the Rákshasa being dismissed by him departed, and there
Vidúshaka beheld a delightful lake, and he sat down on the bank of that lake
beautiful with the faces of full-blown lotuses, which, as it were, uttered a
welcome to him with the hum of roaming bees. And there he saw unmistakeable footsteps
as of women, seeming to say to him, this is the path to the house of your
beloved. While he was thinking to himself—“Mortals cannot set foot on this
mountain, therefore I had better stop here a moment, and see whose footsteps
these are”—there came to the lake to draw water many beautiful women with
golden pitchers in their hands. So he asked the women, after they had filled
their pitchers with water, in a courteous manner; “For whom are you taking this
water?” And those women said to him—“Excellent Sir, a Vidyádharí of the name of
Bhadrá is dwelling on this mountain, this water is for her to bathe in.”
Wonderful to say! Providence seeming to be pleased with resolute men, who
attempt mighty enterprises, makes all things subserve their ends. For one of
these women suddenly said to Vidúshaka; “Noble sir, please lift this pitcher on
to my shoulder.” He consented and when he lifted the pitcher on to her
shoulder, the discreet man put into it the jewelled ring he had before received
from Bhadrá,37 and then he sat down again on the bank of that lake, while those
women went with the water to the house of Bhadrá. And while they were pouring
over Bhadrá the water of ablution, her ring fell into her lap. When Bhadrá saw
it, she recognized it and asked those friends of hers whether they had seen any
stranger about. And they gave her this answer; “We saw a young mortal on the
banks of the lake, and he lifted this pitcher for us.” Then Bhadrá said “Go and
make him bathe and adorn himself, and quickly bring him here, for he is my
husband who has arrived in this country.” When Bhadrá had said this, her
companions went and told Vidúshaka the state of the case, and after he had
bathed brought him into her presence. And when he arrived, he saw after long
separation Bhadrá who was eagerly expecting him, like the ripe blooming fruit
of the tree of his own valour in visible form: she for her part rose up when
she saw him, and offering him the argha,38 so to speak, by sprinkling him with
her tears of joy, she fastened her twining arms round his neck like a garland.
When they embraced one another, the long accumulated affection39 seemed to ooze
from their limbs in the form of sweat, owing to excessive pressure. Then they
sat down, and never satisfied with gazing at one another, they both, as it
were, endured the agony of longing multiplied a hundred-fold. Bhadrá then said
to Vidúshaka; “How did you come to this land?” And he thereupon gave her this
answer; “Supported by affection for thee, I came here enduring many risks to my
life, what else can I say, fair one?” When she heard that, seeing that his love
was excessive, as it caused him to disregard his own life, Bhadrá said to him
who through affection had endured the utmost, “My husband, I care not for my
friends, nor my magic powers; you are my life, and I am your slave, my lord,
bought by you with your virtues.” Then Vidúshaka said, “Then come with me to
live in Ujjayiní, my beloved, leaving all this heavenly joy.” Bhadrá
immediately accepted his proposal, and gave up all her magic gifts, (which
departed from her the moment she formed that resolution,) with no more regret
than if they had been straw. Then Vidúshaka rested with her there during that
night, being waited on by her friend Yogeśvarí, and in the morning the successful
hero descended with her from the mountain of the sun-rise, and again called to
mind the Rákshasa Yamadanshṭra; the Rákshasa came the moment he was thought of,
and Vidúshaka told him the direction of the journey he had to take, and then
ascended his shoulder, having previously placed Bhadrá there. She too endured
patiently to be placed on the shoulder of a very loathsome Rákshasa; what will
not women do when mastered by affection? So Vidúshaka, mounted on the Rákshasa,
set out with his beloved, and again reached the city of Kárkoṭaka; and there
men beheld him with fear inspired by the sight of the Rákshasa; and when he saw
king Áryavarman, he demanded from him his daughter; and after receiving that
princess surrendered by her father, whom he had won with his arm, he set forth
from that city in the same style, mounted on the Rákshasa. And after he had
gone some distance, he found that wicked merchant on the shore of the sea, who
long ago cut the ropes when he had been thrown into the sea. And he took, together
with his wealth, his daughter, whom he had before won as a reward for setting
free the ship in the sea. And he considered the depriving that villain of his
wealth as equivalent to putting him to death, for grovelling souls often value
their hoards more than their life. Then mounted on the Rákshasa as on a
chariot, taking with him that daughter of the merchant, he flew up into the
heaven with the princess and Bhadrá, and journeying through the air, he crossed
the ocean, which like his valour was full of boisterous impetuosity, exhibiting
it to his fair ones.40 And he again reached the city of Pauṇḍravardhana, beheld
with astonishment by all as he rode on a Rákshasa. There he greeted his wife,
the daughter of Devasena, who had long desired his arrival, whom he had won by
the defeat of the Rákshasa; and though her father tried to detain him, yet
longing for his native land, he took her also with him, and set out for
Ujjayiní. And owing to the speed of the Rákshasa, he soon reached that city,
which appeared like his satisfaction at beholding his home, exhibited in
visible form. There Vidúshaka was seen by the people, perched on the top of
that huge Rákshasa, whose vast frame was illuminated by the beauty of his wives
seated on his shoulder, as the moon41 rising over the eastern mountain with
gleaming herbs on its summit. The people being astonished and terrified, his
father-in-law the king Ádityasena came to hear of it, and went out from the
city. But Vidúshaka, when he saw him, quickly descended from the Rákshasa, and
after prostrating himself approached the king; the king too welcomed him. Then
Vidúshaka caused all his wives to come down from the shoulder of the Rákshasa,
and released him to wander where he would. And after that Rákshasa had
departed, Vidúshaka accompanied by his wives entered the king’s palace together
with the king his father-in-law. There he delighted by his arrival that first
wife of his, the daughter of that king, who suffered a long regret for his
absence. And when the king said to him; “How did you obtain these wives, and
who is that Rákshasa?” he told him the whole story. Then that king pleased with
his son-in-law’s valour, and knowing what it was expedient to do, gave him half
his kingdom; and immediately Vidúshaka, though a Bráhman, became a monarch,
with a lofty white umbrella and chowries waving on both sides of him. And then
the city of Ujjayiní was joyful, full of the sound of festive drums and music,
uttering shouts of delight. Thus he obtained the mighty rank of a king, and
gradually conquered the whole earth, so that his foot was worshipped by all
kings, and with Bhadrá for his consort he long lived in happiness with those
wives of his, who were content, having abandoned jealousy. Thus resolute men
when fortune favours them, find their own valour a great and successful
stupefying charm that forcibly draws towards them prosperity.
When they
heard from the mouth of the king of Vatsa this varied tale42 full of marvellous
incident, all his ministers sitting by his side and his two wives experienced
excessive delight.
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